


Scales and Feathers

by BSplendens, starlightcrow



Series: RP Stash [3]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: (i think), (lots of "holy fuck keep going) body language under the acting, (technically) - Freeform, Bondage, Humiliation, Lotsa Smut, OCs - Freeform, Oral, Rape Play, Spanking, another RP file
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 15:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSplendens/pseuds/BSplendens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightcrow/pseuds/starlightcrow
Summary: Sometimes a leader just needs to be able to safely give up control once in awhile.Grim... likes something a bit more extreme than most. Namely, he likes to be made to enjoy himself, and to fight for as long as he can. Provided he has a partner, or partners, he can trust. Usually it's his crew, but who is he to pass up an opportunity to sample a more local flavor?





	Scales and Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I think this might qualify as rape play? It's all very consensual, there's been plenty of negotiation beforehand and all that healthy, sane stuff, but the basic idea of the scene is "interrogator and local muscle have a considerable amount of fun with a very angry prisoner", so. Read at your own risk.  
> Grim likes this sort of thing, every now and then, when he's in the right mood. Likes to act like he's being made to enjoy himself. It's relaxing for him. 
> 
> Last updated May 3rd.

This was shaping up to be one of the more intense scenes that Crucible had been in, and, up close to one of the mechs who was going to be involved in it, he could see why. Grim was intense. Had been all week, the tension in his frame gradually building, and still was now. Especially the acting. Crucible had never been one for the intense sort of acting, and wasn't taking a very intense role now. He was playing a simple role, in fact- the local muscle for an Autobot interrogator. Not required to think, not really, just move as he was told. Sort of relaxing, actually. Grim's thing seemed a lot less relaxing, at least at first.

Glancing up at his 'captive', Crucible roughened up his voice and spoke, jostling Grim's frame slightly. "Hurry up, Decepticon."

Grim, servos cuffed, plating bristled furiously, snarled down at Crucible in retaliation and made a sincere(-seeming) attempt to kick Crucible. "Get _fucked_ , Autobot."

Crucible smacked the nearest bit of Grim's plating in retribution and kept going, unfazed, down along the hallway. It was a lesser-used hallway in a part of the building not yet fully patched up, so they were unlikely to run into anyone. Besides- it built the anticipation!

At the end of the hallway was the room they'd picked out. A storage room, probably, at some point. Now, though- now it had been scrubbed nice and clean, set up with good (if temporary) lighting, and fitted with a few particularly choice pieces of furniture. In particular, a short, sturdy, padded table, which Crucible hauled Grim over to. He might have been shorter than Grim, but he was strong, and he bodily heaved their captive up onto the table. Well- mostly onto the table. Bent over the table, to be precise.

Grim snarled and kicked and fought, spitting the occasional vile curse up at the two of them, and made it as difficult as he could to get him restrained. Because the _way_ he was being restrained- bent over a table, knees forced apart, thighs fastened to the table legs by thick straps- it put him practically on display, open and exposed, and then-

Crucible brought the last strap over Grim's back, then settled between his cuffed arms and, without further preamble, settled his thighs around Grim's helm. Grinning as Grim hissed, he glanced back at his interrogator for approval, then yelped in surprise and jerked. "Ah! Boss! He bit me."

Not that hard, mind you. Enough to sting, and enough that he might have a slight mark on his thigh, but not enough to damage anything. Just enough to make the point that he was (at least for the purposes of this scene) thoroughly angry about his position.

It really was a nice image, though. Grim bent over the table, thighs forced apart, strapped down so he couldn't squirm. It wasn't a very _large_ table, either. Just wide enough to support him, with a gap open down the center of it to expose some of his stomach and chassis plating for the stroking.

 

\---------------------- (warning for bloodlust/intrusive thoughts) Pt. 1

It really is a rather odd sensation, Lancet muses as he paces down the hallway alongside Crucible and their ‘prisoner’, to be playing at the part of an Autobot interrogator. Armor shined up as well as it could with the wax they could find, he practically gleams in the dimly lit halls. Hands loosely clasped behind his back and posture straight, new visor firmly in place, he looks at neither prisoner nor his helper in the manner of a stereotypical aloof officer. He also uses this gesture to hide the subtle tremor to his hands - this is the harshest scene he’s had in a long, long time, in fact the first one of this kind since he’s escaped. At least with people that weren’t one-night stands or trading favors. And he ruthlessly pushes his worries away to focus instead on the feast that is about to land in his lap, remembering the fluttering feeling when he was asked to perform such a role in the first place.

Because he _is eager_ for this scene. He drinks in the sharpness of Grim’s field, the tightness and contained agitation shimmering under his armor. And he enjoys how it flares out in little fits as Grim fights against them, a small taste of what truly lurks below this act. Such a heady feeling, to be asked to join in this, his own armor shivers in a small wave of rising arousal. Lancet’s engine purrs, anticipation swirling heavy in his belly and he makes no tries to hide his reactions, allowing his field to touch the others so they can feel how keen he is for this session, both honest communication and an act to rile the prisoner up further.

Pt. 2

Once inside their room, Lancet casually grabs the ‘lock’ and makes a show of it, the sound of a heavy bolt sliding into place echoes against their audials. Locked in, with no place to go, Grim would have to fight through the two of them to even make it to the door. Then he stands at the end of the table and simply observes while Crucible manhandles their prisoner onto the table. And oh, seeing Grim bent over that table, so very easily accessible, has heat pooling low in his groin. And with the way Grim fights even now, bucking against the straps as best he can, it really makes Lancet want to kneel down and bite those enticing thighs. Suck and nip until those thighs are liberally covered in his marks, Grim unable to move away from the assault. _Sink his fangs into tender areas, blood in his mouth and running down Grim’s legs and --_ **_NO_ ** _._ NO. No. What he truly wants is to hear is Grim coming undone under his ministrations, in a long drawn out fuck, not a blood bath.

_\Boss he bit me!_ Lancet presses his fingers against his lips to smother a smile at that, Crucible is really too cute.

Finally, he approaches the two, visor locked on Grim and for now ignoring Crucible and his noises of complaint. He stands beside Grim, out of his field of view and places a slender hand at the small of Grim’s back, rubbing small circles with his thumb, intimate but not yet intrusive. Yet. “Typical,” he murmurs, voice low and with a hint of a Towerling’s accent thrown in. “Decepticons are such basic creatures, resorting to bites of all things.”

Field pushing out, he brushes it along Grim to keep an invisible eye on his mood; they’ve agreed on commlinks for safeword and other such necessary communication. But it’s always a good thing to try and keep away from that line as much as possible in the first place.

Pt. 3

“All we want is a little _communication_. That’s not too much to ask for, truly it isn’t.” Lancet continues, brushing his hand up Grim’s spine as he moves forward, claw tips pricking at armor seems along the way, then his hand then is caressing over Crucible’s thigh. “And here you are, already hurting us. Tch.”

Moving to stand in front of Grim, Lancet crouches down so that they’re at optic level and brings his face forward so that Grim looks directly into his featureless visor. “I really was hoping this would be simple but it looks like you’re a little high-strung.” Slowly, he brings a hand up to grip the base of one of Grim’s horns and just as slowly he applies pressure to force Grim’s head up into a slightly uncomfortable angle, demonstrating how helpless he is in this situation.

“But it seems we’ll just have to run you a little ragged first. I’d really rather not have to beat some civility into you before we can talk.” And here Lancet grins, small and sharp, his field again pushing again out only this time it’s a smothering field against Grim’s jagged emotions. “But first, perhaps you should apologize to Crucible here, he is being rather friendly here, after all.”

 

Grim jolts at the first touch and hisses, then snaps again, dentae clicking shut just out of reach of Crucible's thigh. Crucible has moved himself out of biting range, though, partly to give Lancet some room to handle their prisoner. His boss needs space to work, after all. Grim is panting already, he notices, low and harsh, rasping in the back of his throat. Is it for show, he wonders? The rest of Grim's frame doesn't seem to be this badly worked up, not yet, so it's more likely to be, what... something to excite himself? Heh. Okay. Crucible revs his engine lightly, optics going to his boss, and waits for orders. His field is powerful, thrumming, but kept politely back, as a subordinate's should be. He's making sure to monitor them both, though- he's here partly as a buffer. On the off chance that someone pushes it too far, he can stop them, put himself in the way like he often does. It's a little unnerving, almost- taking a role like this in a more intense scene. Probably about the most intense he's ever been in. But these are good people, he knows, and neither of them wants to hurt the other. Beyond that, Grim isn't exactly easily upset, and they're not about to ride right at the edge of anyone's tolerance. There's a little wiggle room in which to stop things before anyone gets truly upset.

Grim knows how to set his vents to make them sound harsher, and he does so as he's touched, emphasizing everything. He tenses and growls as Lancet _touches_ him, squirming as if to get loose, then goes completely still at the tug to his horn. His optics half-shut for an instant, and the softest, indistinct sound slips from his vocalizer, field outright _fluttering_ in its underlayers. The upper layers are all aggressive, furious, jagged and stabbing, worthy of the pissed-off Decepticon captive, but the underlayer is something best described as "anticipatory vibrating", with a stronger note at being held like this. He _wants_ . No matter the fury in his expression, no matter how he bares his dentae up at his interrogator, he wants. "Frag _off_ ," he spits, twisting his helm and trying to bite at Lancet's arm, claws digging into and scraping along the edge of the table. " _Coward_ , making your _pet_ do your dirty work, won't even take me _on_ properly _yourself_ , Autobot _filth_ , and _you_ \- no _defiance_ , spineless _tool_ , weakling-"

When Lancet lets go of Grim's horn, Crucible slides both servos up, moving back a bit to cradle his helm in a mock-affectionate manner. He doesn't give Grim a chance to bite him, instead pushing his thumb between the Decepticon's fangs as their captive opens his mouth to snarl. Granted, Grim bites down on that, but it's careful- not even enough to really hurt. Just for show. Heedless of the biting, Crucible pushes his other thumb into Grim's mouth, watching those red optics go wide in anger, and pries his mouth open to show Lancet. Noting, on some level, that Grim doesn't even _begin_ to gag despite having a thumb rather far back into his mouth. It's a pretty sight, the long, flexible black glossa with a thin line of gold up its whole length, and- oh! Forked at the tip! Crucible hadn't noticed that before, and he gives a soft, delighted little hum, turning to look at Lancet again. "He's got a filthy mouth, boss, but it's real pretty. And it's real soft inside. Can I play with him some, boss? Maybe he'll wanna talk nicer if we don't let him talk any for a bit. I won't break 'im, I promise. But he's _real_ pretty. I wanna try."

Grim's optics flare nicely in sheer _outrage_ and he snarls in the back of his throat, a bit less menacing without the ability to hiss through his fangs, and tries to bite down on Crucible's fingers. It's not working terribly well, though, Crucible's doing something at the hinge of his jaw that holds his mouth open. Which, combined with his harsh venting and the fact that there's something in his mouth, means he's on the verge of drooling. It's a very specific sort of attractive picture, the wild optics and the sharp dentae held firmly apart, but it's tempting nonetheless, and that shivering undernote in his field is as strong as ever. His captor is trapping him, holding him, he can't escape any of the attention, and the powerful forge-mech keeps revving his engine like- like he hopes to-

Grim _snarls_ a thoroughly furious noise, plating flaring, and bites down a bit harder, trying and failing to wrench himself out of Crucible's servos. But he feels the grip falter, just for an instant, sees a hint of a glance down at him, and -no, don't _stop_ \- sends a quick, simple, affirmative ping through their private COMM. He's going to bite Crucible for real if Crucible stops now. Really- is the fact that the digit on the base of his tongue isn't making him gag not proof enough that he can take this? He's taken bigger than Crucible!

Well. Based on size, he assumes he’s taken bigger. Crucible’s spike is probably not on the scale of someone like Bruiser. Wouldn’t exactly mind that, though.

For now, with Crucible reassured and the grip on his helm tight again, he focuses on squirming. It’s not actually an uncomfortable position, all things considered- the table is padded, Crucible isn’t pulling on his helm any, and nothing is tight. It would be perfectly comfortable… if not for the way the mech sitting right in front of his face was eyeing his glossa, and Grim hissed again, low and deep, field lashing out with _warning/anger/outrage_ in lieu of all the cursing he wants to do. Especially as Crucible’s engine revs again and, in response to the rush of hot air from Grim’s throat that accompanies the hiss, he rolls his hips a little towards Grim’s face.

He’s still being good, though! His boss hasn’t said yet if he can take his spike out. It’s rude otherwise. Gotta make sure that’s something his boss wants to see.

 

 

“Such a fierce beast we have.” Lancet murmurs in low approval over the ragged breathing, staring at Grim like he was some sort of fascinating bug caught under a glass cup.

When the fluttering undertones of _want_ roll over him, Lancet shuts his optics to gather himself as his own desire surges higher, faint shivers traveling his frame and momentarily grips the horn tighter. If there hadn’t been a script for this session, he’d be positioning himself between spread thighs immediately. As is, he rolls in his _desire/lust/want_ , channels it into his field and pushes it hard against Grim. This is both to show how much he’s already reveling in this and to sort of slap the prisoner with what kind of interrogator he found himself with.

His heavy cycle engine revs at the outburst of verbal tirade. ”How unfortunate you’re choosing this. The Brass is really not going to like your answer. But oh, I quite do, this is a _favorite_ song and dance.”

Still crouched before the other two, Lancet observes as Crucible uses his own fingers as a wedge between Grim’s fangs. He’s fairly certain his visor brightens a touch when Grim’s _magnificent_ glossa was revealed to him. Holy scrap is he ever pleased by this surprise! Near mesmerized, he reaches out and tenderly caresses Grim’s stretched lips. “Now I really am disappointed I turned down the opportunity to film this session.” His voice, started as a near reverent murmur as he just _watches_ Grim’s mouth work for a few moments, now turns to a smug sneer. “I’d love to have this face of yours saved for later perusal. And a few co-workers to look over as well, for investigative purposes of course.”

Then he spares a moment of his attention from prisoner to bodyguard and sends a fluttering wave of approval at Crucible, such a good subordinate, clearly wanting but waiting for instructions. Slowly, he abandons Grim’s mouth and rises to his full height again. One small hand travels up Crucible’s torso until it’s cupping his rusty red cheek. “So good you are,” he croons in a harsh contrast to the treatment he’s been giving Grim. “And I do believe that good behavior should be rewarded.” His hips sway directly in front of Grim’s face adding to the heat of the small space and he’s certain the restrained bot can smell his arousal, even with his panels still closed. “So go ahead, play with him a bit. But be sure to be careful, I’m very interested in that glossa of his.” As added punctuation, he so very lightly rubs his groin against Grim’s nose and open mouth, and the only thing Grim can do is snarl at him, no danger from that mouth right now.

Then before Crucible can shift from his perch, Lancet returns his attention to Grim. He crouches back down before Grim and inserts his fingers alongside Crucible’s thumbs and makes sure to rub the length of his digits along Grim’s glossa so that he can pick up the expensive polish on them. When Grim hisses and thrashes, Lancet merely chuckles, then carefully he grabs that gorgeous glossa of his and pulls at it a little - he wants to see its length first. That long glossa is then pinched between two fingers as Lancet extends it, running his fingers down to the tip like he was curling a ribbon. Locking optics with Grim, Lancet bends forward and places a chaste kiss upon the middle of his glossa. “Don’t worry, pretty bird, you’ll sing before the night is through.~”

And at last he steps away to give room to Crucible for his little bit of fun. “It’s very obvious he wants something in that mouth of his anyway, what with the way he’s _constantly_ attempting to to wrap it around parts of ourselves. So!” Lancet exclaims and gestures at Grim like he’s presenting a buffet. “Have fun!”

 _Primus_ , he’s nearly vibrating in place and he’s sure his fang-filled grin is fiercer than he intended it. But by Unicron Above is Grim’s display winding him up to heights he’s forgotten about.

 

 

 

 

 

Grim makes what would probably be a disgusted noise if it wasn't so muffled, biting a bit harder on Crucible's fingers, and his claws dig into the table as he pushes his field back. Hard. _Rage/anger/threat_ , the promise of violence as soon as he gets out, throwing it at Lancet like a spear. There's a quiet undernote of that same shivering lust, though, and a note of the same in his optics as he watches his interrogator close in. When Lancet touches him, he tries to jerk his helm enough to snag the mech's fingers with one of his dentae, but fails entirely thanks to the strong servos on his helm. This mech is _strong_ , more than enough to hold him still and _make_ him take whatever they do, and he can't even bite down on his interrogator's fingers. Or his interrogator's _panels_ , much as he'd like to. Much as he tries. And then this _brute_ of an assistant grins and shifts up closer, and Grim makes an absolutely furious noise in the back of his throat.

"Thanks, boss," Crucible purrs, and retracts his panels, freeing his spike. "He's too pretty, it was gettin' tight. Look at 'im. Aw, I better make sure he's comfortable. I'll even be nice an' give you somethin' t' grab onto," he decides, letting go of Grim's helm with one servo to move around. Bring Grim's cuffed arms up around his midsection, edge forward a little so his spike is against Grim's face, then reach back and pull up the edge of the table so Grim's servos can reach. Grim makes a notable effort to claw at him for a bit, then gives a spitting noise and digs his claws into the table. Which is all the signal Crucible needs to grip one of the prisoner's pretty spiral horns in one servo, push his jaws open further with the other, and thrust firmly into his mouth. It's hot and tight and the outraged _shriek_ vibrates nicely against his spike, but there's no resistance whatsoever, even though he can feel Grim's throat flexing around the head of his spike. " _Ah_ , boss, he's- _wow_ ," Crucible pants, bracing his currently unoccupied servo on their prisoner's back as he tugs his helm down further by one of his horns, "he- he just- he took the whole _thing_ , _look_ at him!"

He'd been given permission to do this, after all. Told he could just thrust as quick as he wanted, that Grim could handle it, and, wow! The squirming and outraged noises would have been a bit alarming, except that Grim's glossa curled around his spike, squeezing, and he felt something shudder through Grim's inner field that distinctly reminded him of how some people's optics rolled back in their helms when you did something just right. That, and, though Grim's struggling has resumed in earnest, he's only barely trying to pull his helm away. All the squirming is just for show- claws raking over what he can reach of the table, pedes skidding a bit on the floor with what little motion he can manage in his legs, Probably a good thing they'd put some padding down for his knees. So, crooning, he rocks leisurely into Grim's throat, holding tight to one horn so their prisoner can't move away. No matter how much he struggles. "Boss- he's still squirmin'. Real naughty, yeah? Maybe you oughta- oughta punish 'im. Think he might even _like_ it, _fuck_ , his throat's- he's so _good_ , boss. _Ah_ , wow, you- you think he just- 's this what he _does_? Think 's his job?"

Grim struggles and kicks for a moment more, optics wide and wild, then slowly goes still. Panting, field shuddering, optics gradually sliding shut as one of his captors slowly rocks into his throat. Crucible's spike is _hot_ and heavy on his glossa and the texture is amazing, if it was any other scene he'd _love_ to just sit and savor it, but right now he's... really supposed to be struggling, isn't he? It's hard to remember to do that, though. What with the restraints holding him, the strong, warm frame pressed up against his front, the powerful servos pulling his helm down into every little thrust. It feels good, and he's almost, _almost_ in the mood to surrender...

Then he hears his interrogator moving around behind him, and the fight surges up again. He makes an actual effort to pull his helm away from Crucible, optics going wide, and snarls muffled fury as he tries to kick back at the perverted little bot. The spike in his mouth is enough, the heat and the _taste_ of the bot holding him down, without having another bot _touching_ him like- Grim's optics widen in show, his back plating lifts in what looks like badly concealed shock, and he tries (and fails) to clamp his spread thighs together and squirm away. It starts to _work_ for an instant, every bit of loose strength put against the restraints starting to get them to give- then the bot around his helm leans down and thrusts harder into his throat and Grim gasps, shudders, and slowly goes limp. Nngh.

And he can't see it, but he looks so _good_ like this. Claws digging into the table to brace himself, optics slitted and angry but oh-so-bright, armor fluffed to disperse heat and field starting to pull back a bit further. Trying to hide the undercurrent of arousal, the slight beginnings of charge jumping over his frame. Trying not to act like he's _enjoying_ being their _toy_ . Trying to fight as much as he can, to make himself as much trouble as possible. And _definitely_ not enjoying the thick, beautifully textured spike being rocked leisurely between his lips.

 

 

 

Though Grim’s lashing field staggers him a moment, Lancet uses those hot emotions to feed his own fire. His armor starts to flare out to combat his rising temperatures, biolights brighten with his excitement splashing some color along his pale frame.  _ Frag _ , he’s already so charged at this point, valve tingling and spike swelling in his sheath, he’d really love to simply throw someone, anyone down, and ride them until they’re both satisfied. The more Grim struggles and thrashes beneath Crucible’s attention, the noises of objection and shaking body, the louder Lancet’s engine rumbles - he makes no effort to hide how the defilement of their prisoner excites him. He comes to stand beside Crucible, silently watching, one hand idly petting his own hip seam, other hand pressed against his lips, and deeply enjoying the way the large spike makes Grim’s mouth flex, he can even tell when Grim gets his gloosa involved, jaw working in a very particular way.

“Hmm, why yes, he  _ did _ just take all of you in one go.” Lancet says lightly, visor avidly fixated on the pair of them. “What talent he has.” This is said with a sneer. “And so very, very pretty. Far too lovely to be  _ just _ a soldier. No, I bet there are other reasons he’s survived this long. And he was captured  _ so easily _ too. There’s no other question - he  _ wants _ this.” 

And Primus  _ fuck _ but he can feel Grim fighting with himself, trying not to surrender already,  _ trying _ to keep this game going for a little longer. He really does want this, need this. And Lancet shall give it to him, as much as he wants.(edited)

Aware of the little space between the two, Lancet carefully slips a hand under Grim’s throat. Here he makes a pointed show of fondling that dark neck and bottom of  the jaw to really feel Crucible’s spike sliding in and out of him. Maybe squeeze a bit, see how much Grim tolerates, Lancet’s optics and field zeroed in on the gaunt form and how he convulses around Crucible’s thrusts. Just a small reminder of the danger Grim is in, a low tiered prisoner deep in Autobot territory, a hint of claw tips prickling at vital energon lines, Lancet can feel the life blood flowing beneath his fingers tips and he’s so  _ tempted _ . 

Instead, before it quickly becomes too much, he removes his hand and leans close to Grim’s helm, not bothering to have Crucible stop his thrusts, their heady scent infiltrating his senses, and speaks directly into his audial. “Yes, for being such a  _ naughty _ little Deception, he will be punished.” 

He chuckles at Grim’s newfound energy to struggle, the restraints groaning under his frantic efforts. He moves to the back of the room and retrieves a cart, a heavy tarp covering it’s contents. The cart is wheeled to just within Grim’s sight, just enough to get a glimpse of the cart but not enough to pick up any details on what’s on it. 

The tarp is flicked aside and Lancet rummages through the contents, making plenty of noise, like he doesn’t know exactly what he wants. His hands eventually settle on a nice small flogger. Silky soft silicone and a good weight in his hands, he turns toward Grim and sharply slaps the flogger against his hand with a meaty thud. Pale lips stretch into a wickedly fanged grin when Grim’s optics look wildly at him, panic a bright spot at their centers.

”When we’re done with him he won’t be able to talk straight.” Lancet comments softly to Crucible.” Tsk. Just means we’ll have to set up another session with him. And however many more it’ll take to make him spill  _ everything _ .” 

Then he moves back behind Grim, completely out of sight. Head tilted to the side, posture straight, he even, with great effort, brings his field back under control and out of touch of both bots. No orders are given to Crucible, he trusts the bot to adjust to his actions. For a few long moments he only stands there, watching the two of them moving together. Grim slowly sliding back into that tempting headspace even as he puts up token fights and Crucible languidly using that mouth like a toy. 

Finally, he brings the flogger down upon Grim’s haunches without warning, one swift and harsh strike upon both thighs in quick succession. Grim is jarringly brought back to the present, the laughter of his interrogator ringing about the room and filling his aidials. 

“Oh, yes, little Con, you’ll sing for us.”

 

 

 

It shows in his frame, too- his wings prick and the plates at the edges shift and tilt, and his optics flick around the room as well as he can. He's clearly  _ thinking _ , working the situation through, looking for something to... anything to... 

Oh, but it's hard to think with the scent of arousal filling his vents, with such a thick spike rocking between his lips and no sign that his captor is done with him, with the  _ heat _ . He wants to give in. He wants, much as he tries to fight it, to start sucking and let his glossa wrap tighter around this pretty spike. Wants to do more than just take it (though he's pretending, there, that he isn't deliberately pulsing his throat for Crucible). In fact- he wants to take it somewhere  _ else _ . Such a  _ hot _ spike, so thick, so nicely textured- he wants it in his valve. Maybe it'd be worthwhile keeping this one as some kind of pet? Doesn't seem like he'd put up much fight if Grim just gave him the right treatm-

And then any and all attempts at coherent thought come apart as sensation explodes across his frame.

Truthfully, Crucible isn't completely sure what he's supposed to do here. It's his first time using a play-prisoner as a toy while someone spanks them. So he settles for gripping Grim's horns a bit tighter, pulling his helm back down as he tries to jerk up on reflex, relishing the vibration against his spike as Grim gives a muffled, outraged  _ howl _ .

It doesn't sound angry or hurt, though. More like furious that someone would  _ treat _ him like- and then Lancet strikes again, Grim tries to kick him, and Crucible thrusts a bit harder in warning. "Hey! It's your own -nngh- fault. This's what happens when you don't behave. Good hits, boss, he's- oh, he doesn't like that at  _ all _ . Wanna- wanna find out what 'e'll do to make y' stop if y' keep goin'. D'you wanna- hang on-" he mutters, hearing a wheeze in their prisoner's vents, and pulls Grim's helm up and off his spike. People who end up with his spike in their throats sometimes need a break from the heat, and that seems to be the case here- Grim pants wordlessly without play-struggling, and Crucible, optics flicking out of that quiet and vaguely dumb expression, holds up a servo to let Lancet know to let off.

Quietly grateful for the break, Grim nods very slightly to Crucible, relaxing, and pants heavily through his open mouth. Which gives him time to get a good look at Crucible's spike, and to decide that, yes. Now or later, he wants that in him elsewhere. There's no promise of that in this scene, they only have a vague outline and no clear idea of what's going to be done to him at certain points- as certain  _ punishments _ if it goes that way. But, mm, this spike. Pretty thing. Valve must be amazing, too, with this heat coming off his frame. And he's so sturdy- good for getting a proper hold on and fragging nice and hard. Grim  _ definitely _ wants a few pieces of him later. 

For now, though, his systems are cooled down enough. He signals this, not by anything  _ polite _ , but by snarling "I am going to  _ kill _ both you  _ perverts _ when I-" and that's as far as he gets before Crucible unceremoniously pulls his helm down and thrusts into his mouth again. Hard, this time, confident, and thrusting more. Thrusting  _ deeper _ , enough that his captor's plating is grinding against his nasal ridge as the forge-mech pauses. Deep enough that he can feel that pulsing spike in his throat and  _ know _ he's going to be forced to swallow every drop when Crucible inevitably cums.

"-sorry, boss, didn't wanna cook 'im," Crucible explains, then  _ groans _ , rocking his hips strongly enough to move Grim's entire frame. "Ahh, wow, not gonna- 'm gonna cum soon, boss, he's- he's  _ really _ good. I-I guess he ran outta Decepticon cock to suck an' wanted ours, huh? You- you think he's  _ ever _ done anythin' but suck, though? Oh, I- I  _ hope _ you ain't had yer other holes filled yet, I-I wanna see your  _ face _ when you- boss,  _ please _ don't fuck 'im 'till- till I cum, he's- look, he's still squirmin'-" indeed Grim was, despite the sting of the flogger "-an' he's been real bad, keep- keep goin' 'till I cum? I-I wanna see his face when you take 'im, he's- oh, 'm gonna get goin' again so  _ fast _ . You- you think he'll tame down any after I cum, though? Get a-a li'l Autobot in him."

Grim, despite being deep in this particular headspace, in the muffled outrage and in the the continued struggling at being  _ spanked _ and at his own frame for betraying him with its own  _ heat _ , picks up on that. Well. Good thing he's picked something out that went well with the "uptight Decepticon too busy with the Cause for interface" role he’s playing. A delicate little false seal, tight over his valve, almost exactly like the real thing. Grim, to himself, deep away from the session, purrs quiet satisfaction at his own forethought. 

Grim-in-character, on the other hand, jolts and  _ snarls _ and does his best to broadcast fake-hidden and genuine  _ panic _ at the mentions of actually being  _ spiked _ . It works, too! The edges of his field do, indeed, feel like  _ outrage/anticipation/fear _ . The inner parts are much more along the lines of  _ anticipation/arousal/pleasure _ , though, especially as Crucible begins to grind more quickly into his mouth in fast little thrusts. Close,  _ close _ , keeping his spike thrust deep so Grim will have no choice but to swallow, and Grim's fans rev helplessly in quivering anticipation. Crucible is a hefty bot, how much fluid is Grim going to have to  _ take _ ?

Panting hard, Crucible pulls Grim's helm close by his horns, pulls his spike almost out, thrusts fully once more, and goes shudderingly still, hips bucking a few times as he cums. And making a thoroughly undignified noise as Grim, despite growling as if in fury,  _ swallows _ around the head of his spike, glossa doing something absolutely wicked along the shaft. 

A lot of fluid, evidently. It’s only Grim's lack of a gag reflex that keeps him from choking and lets him swallow instead, lets him gulp down every drop of hot, tangy transfluid, lets him... somehow almost,  _ almost _ melt into the situation. Even with the steadily growing sting of the flogger against his thighs, the uncertainty of when and  _ where _ the next blow is going to be, the... Primus, he’s going to forget how to  _ think _ if he doesn’t get his helm out from between Crucible’s thighs soon. The scent of arousal is getting to him.


End file.
